


All Those Pretty Lights

by idoltina



Category: Glee
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Childhood Friends, Consensual Underage Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Past Violence, Semi-Public Sex, Treehouse Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-21 15:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/599272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which childhood best friends Kurt and Blaine grew up next door to each other. This is the story of them losing their virginity, affectionately subtitled treehouse!porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Those Pretty Lights

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings (if any):** Language, consensual and semi-public sex between two underage characters, mentions of canonical character death, mentions of canonical violence

It’s warm despite how late it is but Blaine is cold, or at least Kurt probably thinks he’s cold, the way Blaine’s skin shivers under his touch. The press of Kurt’s lips against his is buzzing, intoxicating, and Blaine has to pull back a little to put some space between them. “I feel like Allie,” he laughs.

It takes Kurt a minute to recover, but there’s the smile, bright and wide and toothy and reaching his closed eyes. “I thought the point,” he teases, fingers flexing against Blaine’s shoulders, “was that there wasn’t one. Shouldn’t we both feeling like Noah?”

Kurt’s fingers start to dance across his clavicle, the fabric sliding of Blaine’s shirt sliding against his skin. “It’s not a male/female thing,” Blaine says, swallowing thickly. “It’s a I’m-so-nervous-I’m-probably-going-to-babble thing.”

Kurt opens his eyes at that, a faint glimmer in them. “We don’t have to,” he says breathlessly. “Just because it’s my --”

“No,” Blaine cuts in, anchoring a hand around Kurt’s neck. “I want to. I just -- don’t stop kissing me, okay? Because otherwise I’m going to ruin this.”

“You couldn’t ruin anything,” Kurt protests, but he leans in for another kiss anyway. When he pulls away, his fingers fumble with the buttons on Blaine’s cardigan. And like this, with their heads bowed, hands trembling between them, Kurt has never looked more beautiful. It’s dark but clear outside, the stars glittering above them, and the dim light from the table in the corner throws Kurt’s features into stark contrast. Kurt’s hands are gentle as he slides them under the cardigan to Blaine’s shoulders to help remove it. It’s with a smile that he leans in to kiss again, and this time his touch is more firm against Blaine’s clavicle, pressing Blaine down against the blanketed floor of the treehouse.

Kurt’s lips fall to his jaw, and it’s with a fuzzy, lust-filled glance up at the bulletin board on the wall that Blaine knows there’s no other place he’d rather be losing his virginity.

Blaine reaches around and toys with the hem of Kurt’s shirt, fingers dancing lightly across the skin he exposes. Kurt lets out a muffled giggle against his neck -- _that tickles_ \-- but pulls back a little. He barely waits for Blaine to drag his shirt up and over his head before he’s reaching for the hem of Blaine’s polo. Somewhere along the way, their arms and shirts get tangled, and it takes a minute of quiet giggling and patience to sort themselves out. This isn’t new, hasn’t been new for _years_ , not since the first summer they shared together out by Lima’s community pool.

Kurt slings a leg on either side of Blaine, hips settling low and not-close-enough, and it’s with a burst of air that he cups Blaine’s face in his hands and dives in for another kiss. And that makes it really, really hard to concentrate. Blaine wants to appreciate this, wants to take the time to recognize how huge this is, after almost eight years, to be together like this. But he’s a fifteen-year-old boy and his boyfriend is shirtless and panting above him, skin warm under Blaine’s hands, dick tantalizingly close. Blaine reaches out a tentative hand between kisses and presses his palm against the not-so-obvious bulge in Kurt’s pants (he looks so _good_ in black denim, it’s a shame to get him out of it).

Kurt hums pleasantly against his lips, the sound almost indistinguishable from the way the air sounds at the end of summer. He doesn’t miss a beat, reaches forwards and flicks open the button of Blaine’s pants with his thumb. “You’re sure he won’t come up?” Blaine murmurs against Kurt’s lips, leaning back a little to let Kurt pull down the zipper.

He can feel Kurt grin against his lips as he tugs at the material against Blaine’s thigh. “Pamphlets, remember?” he says, a hint of humor in his voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks we’ve already done it by now.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Blaine groans, lifting his ass a little so that Kurt can start to tug his pants off.

“You were practically humping me on the couch!” Kurt says defensively, but the glimmer hasn’t left his eyes and he’s got Blaine’s pants down to his ankles now. “Or did you forget that part?”

“No,” Blaine answers, voice low. “No, I definitely remember.” He makes a grab for Kurt, then, hands clammy against Kurt’s bicep. “Come back here and I’ll show you.”

“Mmm, nope, my turn.” Kurt uses Blaine’s grip to tug him up into a sitting position and guides Blaine’s hand back to his pants. And Blaine can’t help himself -- he presses his lips against the soft flesh of Kurt’s abdomen while he works Kurt’s pants open with his hands, sucks moist kisses all across his belly as he reaches a hand behind and tugs. “Blaine,” Kurt gasps. “Let me up -- off my knees. I can’t get them off like this.” Blaine falls back onto his elbows, his skin practically vibrating with need, and watches as Kurt awkwardly tries to shuck off his pants. He can’t stand in the treehouse anymore, neither of them can. It’s been years since either of them were able to do it, and if Kurt keeps getting taller, he’ll never be able to do more than crawl in here on his hands and knees.

He does it now anyway, once his jeans are gone, and hovers over Blaine with a mischievous smile. “You had something to show me?” Blaine grips a hand in Kurt’s hair and _tugs_ , bringing Kurt all the way down with him. Their lips collide and it’s messy, heated, tongues a little over-eager but Blaine does not _care_. Kurt shifts and settles all the way down and Blaine groans at the feeling of them pressed together. It’s so much better than before, without as many layers and so much more skin. Kurt’s a little breathless when he manages to tear his mouth away, and the smile never leaves his face as he pulls away a little so he can look down between them. “We could,” he says airily, hips moving in lazy circles. “We could do it just like this.”

“We could,” Blaine agrees, gasping a little as Kurt’s hips rock down. “But do you really want to?”

It’s with one last slow drag that Kurt breathes out, shaky and uneven. “No,” he admits. He looks back up at Blaine’s face. “I want more.”

Blaine props himself back on his elbows a little as Kurt fumbles with their underwear, discarding his own boxer briefs first, then Blaine’s. His eyes are decidedly anywhere but Blaine’s crotch, and Blaine watches with fond amusement as Kurt busies himself setting up. He takes the purple pillow from the corner and props it at an angle against the wall behind Blaine’s head. He reaches for the blue bottle of lube on the table with one hand and the maroon blanket with another, allowing himself to get a little closer now. He tugs the blanket up over himself, hiding his legs and and ass from Blaine’s view, before finally exhaling shakily again and letting himself meet Blaine’s gaze. “Is this okay?” he asks, voice quiet. “I thought -- I’ve always pictured it like this, under a blanket. It seems... I don’t know, more romantic that way. Plus, I don’t exactly want to accidentally flash anyone.”

Blaine smiles. “It’s fine,” he assures Kurt, voice equally quiet. “Should we...” He tapers off and nods at the bottle in Kurt’s hand.

“Yeah,” Kurt breathes, fumbling with the cap. “Let me just --” The cap clicks open and the lube dribbles out and down between them unexpectedly, causing them both to jerk in surprise. “That’s --”

“-- cold, yeah,” Blaine grits out, biting out a slight laugh. “It’s nice though. It’s warm out.” He settles back against the pillow and waits for Kurt to set the bottle back on the table. “You sure know how to treat a boy right.”

Kurt bites his lip, a little shy, but he crawls in close, and Blaine can’t _not_ look at his cock. It’s just hanging there heavily between them, wet and glistening and begging to be touched. The blanket hangs over them, sheltering them from the outside world, and it’s with a gentle nose-to-nose touch that Kurt asks, “Any other requests?”

Blaine shakes his head, grips Kurt’s neck tightly, and tugs him forward the rest of the way. “Just kiss me,” he begs, fighting not to pivot his hips upwards. “Kiss me and don’t stop.”

So Kurt does, he leans down the rest of the way and presses a soft kiss to Blaine’s lips, and that’s it -- their cocks finally brush against each other, hard and wet and begging for friction. Blaine can hear the way Kurt’s breath gets caught in his chest, and it’s with a sharp exhale that Blaine moves his free hand down beneath the blanket to knead at Kurt’s ass. Kurt presses down a little harder, hips rocking, and Blaine lets his legs fall open so Kurt can settle between them more comfortably.

It’s not perfect. It’s too warm and they’re both a little sweaty and sticky. Neither of them can seem to breathe right but refuse to let their lips part, and the lube is only going to keep things slick for so long. But it _is_ perfect, because it’s here, high up above the ground with Kurt, and they can’t get any closer than they are now. Blaine loves that, loves that with every searing kiss he presses to Kurt’s mouth, Kurt presses right back, hand gripping Blaine’s hair at the back of his head where the gel’s starting to lose some of its hold. He can feel Kurt’s heart beating against his chest, can feel his own thundering back. It’s too much and not enough and everything he’s ever wanted.

It takes Kurt four or five tries to successfully pry his lips away from Blaine’s, gasping out a _wait, wait_ for every whine that emits from Blaine’s throat. He puts a little space between them and reaches for the lube again, making things slick and even messier and Blaine absolutely doesn’t care. Kurt grants him one last kiss to the lips as he leans in again, and then he’s tucking his face against Blaine’s neck, hands scrambling at Blaine’s shoulders for purchase as he rocks down, a little harder this time.

Blaine settles back against the pillow comfortably and lets Kurt rock against him, revels in the way Kurt’s lips suck hot against his throat, tongue soothing over the skin. Blaine will have a hickey or two to show for it in the morning, he’s sure, and it’s still too warm, even at the end of summer, for them to start wearing scarves. He’ll get a few raised eyebrows from his parents, he’s sure (and an inappropriate comment from Cooper, if he happens to Skype in before they’re gone), but it’s worth it. He lets the sensation build as they rock together, commits to memory the way the wood squeaks a little, the pants and gasps of pleasure between them. Kurt is warm and solid and perfect above him, with him, and Blaine lets himself get lost in how good it feels, how _right_ it feels.

His eyes fall to the small built-in counter that’s littered with objects from their childhood: there’s the tiny porcelain teapot with a crack down the side, from their first playdate; the old, worn pair of Converse from Blaine’s sixth grade infatuation that they use to communicate when things aren’t always been at their best; the stuffed green giraffe Kurt had won for him the summer between their eighth and ninth grade years; the hardback copy of _The Egypt Game_ they’d read over and over again in the fourth grade.

Kurt pulls away again, pulling Blaine’s focus. He reaches for the lube again, this time coating his hand, and adjusts himself between Blaine’s legs so that their cocks align just right. He wraps his hand around them both and --

Blaine gasps and reaches a hand back to grip at the bottom of the window frame. It gives him a little leverage and he rocks up into Kurt’s hand, hardly able to breathe. “I --”

“Is that good?” Kurt asks. “Do you want me to --”

“Yeah, it’s good, just --” He cranes his neck up awkwardly to kiss Kurt and the angle makes it really uncomfortable on his neck and spine. He arches a little closer and breaks the kiss, panting as he fucks up into Kurt’s fist. He makes a grab for Kurt’s shoulder, trying to find more leverage. Every nerve and muscles feels tight and strung out and on the verge of bursting. “ _Kurt_.” Kurt tightens his grip, strokes a little faster, and Blaine’s eyes fall shut as he focuses on the way it feels: Kurt’s skin on his, the hot, slick heat as they slide against each other, how hard they are, pressed against each other like this. The head of Kurt’s cock slips, catches under the ridge of the head of Blaine’s cock as Kurt’s hand shifts up and down again and --

Blaine’s back bows as he grips the frame of the window even harder and comes with one quiet, choked off sound, pulsing under Kurt’s palm and coating his stomach in white. He tries valiantly to catch his breath, once, twice, three times before he lets out a gasp and he feels like he can breathe again. He’s panting and every part of him aches from the angle, the harsh wood beneath him, the confined space they’re in. He collapses onto the treehouse floor with a _thud_ , the blankets beneath them doing little to cushion the sound or his body, and Kurt tumbles on top of him with a startled _oh!_.

Blaine’s body finally starts to relax like this, flat on his back without strain, and he can feel the effects of his orgasm start to creep in around the edges, buzzing pleasantly. “You’re shaking,” Kurt breathes, petting at his brow.

“‘m okay,” Blaine mumbles, hands fumbling blindly for Kurt’s face. “I’m just...”

“Having trouble with words?” Kurt offers, and Blaine can practically hear him grinning.

“‘s better that way,” he slurs, suddenly a little too sleepy. “I’d just ruin things by talking and --”

“Hey.” Blaine’s eyes flutter open -- not without difficulty -- as Kurt’s hand comes to rest on his cheek. “I like it when you talk.” It’s not much, the gesture and the words, but Blaine suddenly feels very loved, up in here in their safe space, with Kurt’s hands on him, his stomach damp and the blanket tickling at his thighs a little. He nuzzles his face into Kurt’s hand, kisses the pad of Kurt’s thumb and breathes out, sated. Kurt makes a noise low in the back of his throat and pulls away a little, reaching for the box of tissues on the tiny table to clean Blaine up.

It’s as Kurt’s tossing the last tissue into the wicker wastebasket under the table that Blaine grabs his wrist and kisses the inside of it softly, wet and open-mouthed. “You’re still hard,” he murmurs, lifting his leg a little so that his thigh brushes against Kurt’s cock. “You should’ve come first. You’re the birthday boy, after all.”

“Am not,” Kurt grits, shifting his hips away a little. “Not for another half hour, at least. It’s better this way. I’d feel like a cradle robber, otherwise.”

“Because sixteen is so old,” Blaine quips dryly, rolling his eyes. He tugs Kurt closer, runs his palms up and down the expanse of Kurt’s back. “Maybe we should wait to get you off. Then I can brag about bedding an older man --”

“Shut up,” Kurt laughs, batting at Blaine’s shoulder in mock-outrage. “We’re the same age.”

“For the next half hour, at least.” Kurt hums and starts to toy with the hair at Blaine’s brow, fingers twirling around the curls that are starting to break free. His eyes aren’t even fixed on Blaine’s and it doesn’t even matter; they’re sharp and blue and perfect, and Blaine feels his chest tighten a little. “Tell me what you want. Do you want --” He tries to sit up a little, propping himself up on his elbows and craning his neck a little. “Do you want my hand, or my mouth -- god, Kurt, I’ll blow you if you want.” He lifts his gaze to meet Kurt’s eyes and licks his lips at the sight of Kurt’s face, flushed and hungry. “I can’t promise I’ll be good at it, but --”

Kurt shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard out of his nose. “No, not -- not tonight. I don’t think I’ll last if you try.”

Blaine reaches up and runs a hand down Kurt’s arm, fingers trembling a little at the thought. “Don’t you want to come?”

“Yeah, _god_ , yeah, but I want -- can we try something else?” Kurt asks tentatively, worrying his lip between his teeth.

“Anything,” Blaine breathes, leaning in for a kiss. “Up here, especially. Anything you want. That’s always been the deal, right?”

Kurt nods, darts in for one last kiss, and rolls off of him. “On your side,” he instructs, hand guiding Blaine’s hip. Blaine does as he’s instructed, heart hammering in his chest as Kurt nudges his leg a little, putting his ass on display. He can hear the click of the cap of the bottle again, and that’s all the warning he gets before Kurt’s fingers are tracing over the swell of his ass, damp and slick.

“Oh. You -- you want --” But Kurt shakes his head against Blaine’s shoulder, his fingers dipping down and spreading the lube between Blaine’s cheeks. The pads of his fingers brush against Blaine’s hole with every pass but he doesn’t make even the slightest attempt to press inside, and it’s when the cap of the bottle clicks again that Blaine realizes what Kurt wants. “ _Fuck_ ,” he chokes out, keening a little as he feels Kurt’s hands spread his cheeks apart. “Fuck, Kurt, that is so hot.” Kurt whines a little as he repositions himself, cock settling between Blaine’s cheeks just above his entrance. Blaine can feel _everything_ as Kurt moves his hips forward, can feel the easy slide thanks to the lube, can feel the hot, heavy weight of Kurt’s cock settling between his cheeks, can feel the drag of skin on skin, can feel the weight of Kurt’s balls against his own. Kurt presses forward as far as he can go, chest flush against Blaine’s back, and his breath is warm and damp against Blaine’s shoulder. He grips Blaine’s hip tight as he pivots, exhaling shakily as he moves.

Kurt is _quiet_ , much quieter than Blaine had been, and it’s easier to remember where they are, now. Blaine can hear everything, the distant noise of traffic on the main road, the crickets in the yard, the soft slap of skin against skin. He tilts his head up a little so he can see the stars outside, and it’s with a twist in his gut that he remember the first time they’d come up here after Sadie Hawkins. It’d been colder out, then, but just as clear, and Blaine remembers the soft kiss they’d shared over lantern light, the gentle press of Kurt’s hand against his skin, tracing his cuts and bruises and scars.

Kurt’s hand moves from Blaine’s hip to his ribs, now, fingers splaying across the scar there. Blaine reaches up and behind to grasp Kurt’s free hand and tangle their fingers together, murmurs out a gentle, “I’m okay.” Kurt breathes out into his ear, hand pressing a little more firmly against Blaine’s chest, nails digging into the skin. He comes without a sound, teeth biting into Blaine’s shoulder (and oh, that feels _incredible_ , Blaine will have to file that one away for later). His hips still but Blaine can still feel everything, the pulse of Kurt’s cock between his cheeks, the way Kurt’s come splashes warm and wet and sticky above the swell of his ass. It’s startlingly intimate, moreso than Blaine would’ve expected. Maybe he should’ve expected it. It’s Kurt, after all. “ _Kurt._ ” He tries to pull away once the pulsing stops, but Kurt just grabs at him harder, buries his face into Blaine’s shoulder.

“Stay,” he gasps. “I just -- I need to be sure of you.”

So Blaine stays and lets Kurt hold him. It’s similar, much too similar to that night, the stars overhead, Kurt’s arms around him. He remembers Kurt then, in a haze of dark and red and fuzzy pain, remembers Kurt’s hands in his hair and lips on his forehead, remembers the whispered words -- _stay, stay, stay awake_.

Now, Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand, their knuckles pressing painfully together ( _hold on, don’t let go_ ), and it’s with a sharp exhale that he squeezes back and remembers. Above them is the reminder, the dried out flowers hanging from the ceiling, the only remnants of climbing into the treehouse that day, too young to be grieving the way they were. He remembers Kurt looking distinguished for an eight-year-old, polished in his suit and tie, remembers the tears that came only when they crossed the threshold into the treehouse, remembers the way he clung to Blaine then.

When Kurt finally pulls away, it’s slow and gentle, the sticky slip of his cock from between Blaine’s cheeks, the feather-light touch his fingertips leave behind. Blaine feels the swipe of a tissue again, this time across his ass and lower back, and then Kurt’s hand is at his hip again, tipping Blaine onto his stomach. Blaine twists and cushions his cheek against the pillow, watching Kurt catch his breath and curl up on his side next to Blaine. It takes a nudge of Kurt’s knee, a moving of Blaine’s thigh, and their legs are tangled together. Kurt presses his lips to Blaine’s shoulder, his fingers dancing across Blaine’s back before dipping beneath the blanket to touch Blaine’s ass fleetingly.

“Tickles,” Blaine murmurs, squirming a little.

“I know,” Kurt throws back, grinning into Blaine’s shoulder.

Blaine raises an eyebrow at him. “Birthday antics finally? Is it midnight yet?” Kurt rolls over a little to grab his phone off of the table, the treehouse groaning a little as he does so. His face lights up with a smile before he turns the screen to Blaine. _12:03 a.m._.

Kurt sets the phone back on the table and curls up close again, toes running up Blaine’s calf under the blanket. “Do I get my present now?”

Blaine’s jaw drops open a little as he fakes offense. “What, my virginity wasn’t enough for you?”

“Mmm, no, that was kind of perfect,” Kurt says, practically purring as he hooks his leg over Blaine’s again. “You’ve always known exactly what to get me for my birthday, ever since the day you moved in next door. I think I still have the apron you got me for my eighth.”

“Your mom said you liked cooking with her,” Blaine says quietly. “To a seven-year-old, it seemed thoughtful.”

Kurt leans in a kisses him warmly, lips molding over Blaine’s. “It was thoughtful then, it’s thoughtful now, and it’ll be thoughtful when I’m seventy.”

“Great,” Blaine groans, half laughing against Kurt’s neck. “How am I supposed to live up to that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kurt muses. “Tonight was pretty high up there.”

Blaine lifts his head from Kurt’s neck and grins. “Pun intended?” Kurt grins back, which makes Blaine lean in and kiss him before nodding at the table behind Kurt. “I taped it under the table.”

Kurt glances over his shoulder briefly before flashing Blaine a smile and untangling himself a little to reach under the table. He unearths the small white envelope Blaine had planted there earlier and turns back to Blaine, an excited smile on his face as he tears it open. “It’s an ad,” he says slowly, eyes scanning the colorful insert, “for -- a cooking class?” He lifts his eyes and cocks an eyebrow at Blaine. “My cooking is not that terrible, Blaine. I know you’ve been on the receiving end of some of my less successful experiments while we’ve grown up, but --”

“No,” Blaine laughs, taking the insert from him. “It’s down at the community center -- you know, the one where we’d do the summer plays every year? The community college has a class there at night once a week. I thought --” He hesitates here, surveying Kurt before taking the plunge. “I thought we could take them together,” he explains. “I know how disappointed you were with home ec. at McKinley last year, and I know that it’s important to you, because of Friday night dinners with your dad --”

He doesn’t get to explain much more, because Kurt’s arms are around him again, warm and tight and _clinging_ , the envelope scratching at Blaine’s back, the insert pressed awkwardly between them. “You bought us lessons.” Kurt pulls back, dropping the envelope, and frames Blaine’s face with his hands. “You bought _us_ lessons.”

Blaine blushes a little, his heart skipping a little as he takes Kurt in, the light in his eyes and the brightness of his smile, the sheer nakedness of him, open and bare for Blaine. “It can’t replace learning from your mom, but --”

“-- but it’s something we can do together,” Kurt finishes for him, pulling him for a warm, full kiss.

Blaine takes the insert from him and sets it back down on the table before tangling their fingers together, curling in close. “Your mom would be so proud if she were still here, you know that?” Kurt inhales sharply at that, seemingly ready to protest, but Blaine presses two fingers to his lips to silence him. ‘No, listen. I know this is normally something your dad would say -- and he probably will, actually -- but I mean it. You’re so strong, Kurt, and so kind. I mean, what kid invites the new next door neighbor kid to his eighth birthday party after spending fifteen minutes with him? And you take care of your dad and you -- you take care of me.” He ducks his head at that and closes his eyes, feels Kurt’s lips on his temple. When he pulls away, Blaine looks up at him, eyes shining. “You, Kurt Hummel, are a kind soul.”

A blush creeps onto Kurt’s face, unable to be masked by the smirk his lips form. “Well, I was raised to be polite and have manners, Blaine.” The smirk softens into a real smile, and he doesn’t meet Blaine’s eyes when he says, “After you left, that first day, with your parents and Cooper, my mom asked me if I liked the new neighbors. You know what I told her?”

“Hmm?”

“That the older one looked like a Disney prince, but the younger one acted like one.”

Blaine’s heart skips a beat, but he nudges Kurt with his knee, teasing. “Why does Cooper get to look like one and I don’t?”

Kurt’s eyes flick up to look at him, half-annoyed and amused. “Remind me who I just lost my virginity to again?”

“Cooper’s not gay,” Blaine argues, but it’s Kurt’s turn to press his fingers to Blaine’s lips. Blaine smiles behind them.

“The thing you need to take away from this,” Kurt explains with a sigh, “is that you are just as kind of a soul as I am. I needed one when my mom died and there you were, as always. You, Blaine Anderson,” he finishes, tapping Blaine’s nose with a flourish, “are a prince among men.”

He pulls Kurt on top of him, then, grateful for the ease in which Kurt’s mouth finds his. Blaine is so bad with words, sometimes, so unable to do the right thing, but Kurt somehow sees past all that. He has for the last eight years, past every bad fashion trend and fight with Cooper, past every scraped knee and bully, past the disappointment of his parents and need to please. Kurt sees more than that and labels them good, the drawer full of bowties and the way he’d embraced their differences, the thoughtful gifts on birthdays and a comforting hug when needed, the love of music and someone to share secrets with.

If Blaine’s a prince, the treehouse is so much more than a fortress.

It’s their castle.

*****

Blaine wakes up in the morning to the smell of coffee.

He smiles to himself as he breathes in again, fights back a sleepy laugh at the smell. They haven’t even been drinking coffee that long -- or that often either, really -- but Kurt seems to have taken a shine to it. The first day of school is next week and Kurt’s already got the start of the day planned with a trip to the Lima Bean.

Blaine rolls over a little, burrowing closer to his pillow, when his elbow screams out in protest against hard wood and --

Oh.

Blaine blinks his eyes open and rubs at them a little ineffectually, taking in his surroundings. He’d almost forgotten about falling asleep in the treehouse. It’s not the first time they’ve done it, not by a long shot, but it’s the first time it’s ever been anything like this, naked and tangled up in blankets on the hard wooden floor and --

Kurt’s gone.

Blaine’s not worried, not really, but it does make him a little more uncomfortable. He reaches out and makes sure the blanket’s covering him from the waist down before settling back onto the myriad of pillows Kurt had stashed up here to make them more comfortable. He reaches out for one of the mugs of coffee that Kurt’s set on the table and takes a sip, glad he’s still got a few days of summer vacation left to enjoy the process of waking up.

His eyes fall to the bulletin board in the corner and the memories push-pinned into the cork. There’s the progression of Halloween photos, documenting their pair of costumes every year as they grew up (they both had a thing for the Power Rangers when they’d first met, but the pictures changed and grew with them, and they went from crime-fighting heroes to literary characters to twists on the classics; they don’t have a plan for this year, not yet, but Blaine’s thinking of paying tribute to their childhood by drawing inspiration from a summer blockbuster). There’s the burgeoning stack of programs from their summer plays, the pair of tickets from when they’d gone to see _The King and I_ at the outdoor theater. There’s the set of friendship bracelets they’d made at summer camp when they were nine, colorful plastic too small to fit around their wrists now. The newest addition is big and obvious, right in the center -- it’s the ad for the cooking class Blaine had given Kurt last night.

“Morning.”

Blaine looks over at the doorway and smiles. Kurt crosses the threshold doubled over, a plate in each hand, just as the sun starts to filter its way through the leaves and into the treehouse. Blaine sits up a little and drags the small table between them so that Kurt can set the plates down. Kurt settles down next to him, unearthing two sets of cutlery from the pockets of his bathrobe (and it’s with a hard swallow and an adjustment to the blanket around his waist that Blaine notices Kurt’s not wearing anything underneath). Kurt hands a set to Blaine and leans in for a kiss that tastes like mocha.

“It’s your birthday,” Blaine sighs as Kurt pulls away. “Shouldn’t I be making you breakfast?”

Kurt arches an eyebrow at him and looks pointedly at the plates. “Are you turning down crêpes?”

“No,” Blaine says quickly. “I just -- I wanted to take care of you today.”

Kurt’s face softens and he leans in for another kiss. “You take care of me every day.” He pulls away and starts to dig into his crepe, blush coloring his cheeks. “Consider it a thank you for the birthday present.”

Blaine grins, flustered, and tries to focus on his own crêpe. “Which one?”

Kurt blushes even harder and resolutely looks over at the ad on the bulletin board. “The classes,” he says determinedly. Blaine watches as his eyes pass over the flowers above them, and it’s with a slight twinge in his heart that he watches Kurt turn his attention back to his food. “I want -- you know how there’s the recipe box in the kitchen, the ones my mom wrote down?”

Blaine nods. “The ones written on the backs of photographs of you guys making them, yeah, how could I forget?”

Kurt sets his fork and knife down, fiddling with the tie of his robe. “I want us to do that,” he admits quietly, “when we start taking classes together.” He stops the movement of his hands, looks up at Blaine slowly. “Is that okay?”

Blaine sets his own fork and knife down and crawls in close, blanket shifting around his hips. He knows he’s flashing Kurt, but he’s hidden to the rest of the world, and, well, after last night, it’s nothing Kurt hasn’t seen. “It’s more than okay,” he murmurs, brushing their lips together.

Kurt kisses back, harder than before, and it’s with an undignified yelp that Blaine falls back onto the pillows, the resounding thud not as quiet as it should be. “I thought about this,” Kurt admits, breath warm and heavy over Blaine’s face. He reaches for the tie of his robe and tugs, letting the robe fall open and down past his shoulders to his waist. “I thought about waking you up with my mouth.” Blaine blinks up at him, eyes wide, and whatever had been left of his morning wood is back in all its glory, now, the image of Kurt sucking him off planted firmly in his mind. “I just -- I couldn’t stop thinking about it after you offered last night. And I woke up this morning next to you and remembered and _god_ , I was so hard, Blaine, pressed up against you like that.”

“Unfair,” Blaine protests weakly. “You brought up breakfast and now you’re trying to seduce me and we haven’t even finished and it’s your _birthday_ and --” He trails off, closing his eyes as Kurt’s lips trace kisses over his jaw and down his neck. Blaine feels dizzy with want, all of it a little too much to handle at once. Kurt’s mouth reaches one of Blaine’s nipples and his tongue pokes out to lick across it experimentally. Blaine arches a little beneath him, hissing, before grabbing a fistful of Kurt’s hair and pulling so that Kurt’s face is level with his. “Kurt.” He presses a firm kiss to Kurt’s lips, just once, before he pulls away and tries to focus. “Breakfast first, okay? And then... this,” he says breathlessly, gesturing between them.

“Mmm, consume calories and _then_ burn them, got it,” Kurt hums idly, leaning in for another kiss. Blaine whines against his mouth, fighting the urge to rut up against Kurt’s thigh.

There’s the tell-tale sign of an engine in the driveway, and it’s with an annoyed huff and one last lingering kiss to Blaine’s shoulder that Kurt props himself up on his arms to look out the window. “We don’t know anyone who drives a Navigator, do we?” Kurt murmurs, brow furrowing. Blaine waits, fighting back a smile as he listens for the sound of a door opening and closing. Kurt’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline when it happens, and Blaine anchors a hand at Kurt’s bare waist. “Why is my dad --” He stops, eyes huge, and looks down at Blaine. “A car?” he asks breathlessly. “My dad bought me a _car_ for my birthday?” The smile breaks out on Blaine’s face, he can’t help it, and Kurt scrambles up onto his knees, resecuring the robe around himself tightly. “Come on, come on,” he urges, tugging at Blaine’s hands. “Let’s go down and see it!”

Blaine laughs but sits up, blanket pooling in his lap as he digs around to try and find his clothes. “Hang on, clothes first. And we still haven’t finished breakfast.”

Kurt gives him a once over and sits back on his heels. “Oh,” he says quietly. “You _are_ naked under there, aren’t you?”

Blaine just gives him a _look_ as he tugs his underwear out from under one of the larger pillows. “That’s not exactly what I was going for,” he quips dryly. “I figured you didn’t want to go downstairs to your dad wearing, well, that,” he says, nodding at the bathrobe Kurt’s wearing. “You’re naked under there too, remember? Or at least I think you are --”

“I am,” Kurt affirms quickly, crawling in close again. “I suppose,” he drawls with a dramatic sigh, plucking Blaine’s underwear out of his hand and tossing it aside, “the car can wait.”

Blaine tries -- and fails -- to fight back a smile, grinning like an idiot. “Car aside, weren’t we going to consume calories instead of burn them?”

Kurt hums distractedly, toying with a loose curl near Blaine’s forehead. “If we’re being technical, I did say we’d consume first, _then_ burn. We don’t have to choose. We just have to prioritize.”

“Well, before you prioritize burning,” Blaine says, grunting a little as he maneuvers around Kurt to fish out another birthday surprise, “you might want to take into consideration that you’ll be wearing this.”

Kurt looks down between them at the sash dangling from Blaine’s finger. He takes it into his hand and unfolds it, eyes scanning over the large words printed across it: _BIRTHDAY BOY_. The corner of his mouth turns up into a smile, but when he lifts his eyes to meet Blaine’s, he immediately schools his face into a pout. “I can’t wear this and enjoy you being naked at the same time,” he complains. “I’ll ruin it.”

Blaine grins and wraps a hand around to the back of Kurt’s neck to tug him back down to the floor, giving up on both the car and breakfast. “Not if I swallow.”

*****


End file.
